A Matter of Perspective
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Time-traveling Clara sees her younger self and comes to a decision. Spoilers for "Hell Bent".


A Matter of Perspective

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Doctor Who

Copyright: BBC

The chief inconvenience of one's TARDIS disguising itself as an American diner was the customers. They'd managed to put a perception filter around it to discourage random people wandering in, but every now and again, somebody still did. Of course, those were usually time-travellers themselves, or otherwise unusual, and Clara and Ashildr often used their roles as waitresses to gather information.

However, this was not the sort of customer Clara had been hoping for. She ducked through the back door and into the console room.

"Can you take over for a bit?" she asked.

"All right, what's wrong?" Ashildr replied, looking up from her side of the dashboard.

"Nothing's wrong." Clara shrugged. "I'm bored, that's all. I could do with a break."

Ashildr shot her a piercing look out of those childlike blue eyes, folded her arms, and said nothing. Clara stared back. The smaller woman raised an eyebrow, turned towards the screen on the wall, and opened it on the dining room outside. They both watched as a small, dark-haired woman climbed onto a bar stool, swiveled it all the way around, drummed on the linoleum counter, and fixed the back door with irritable brown eyes. She wore a black coat, carried a red umbrella dripping with rain, and judging by the length of her ponytail, the year was approximately 2013. Clara smoothed the back of her own shoulder-length bob. She had started wearing it shorter after the moon creature's hatching – why, she couldn't quite remember …

"Oh," Ashildr said softly.

"Yeah." Clara shrugged. "Wouldn't want to cause a timey-wimey incident. She won't remember _your_ face. No offense."

"What's she doing here in - " Ashildr checked the navigation readings. "London? I thought you were from Lancashire. If we'd known, we could've avoided this point in time."

"Must've been the year I was a nanny. I ... forgot."

"You forgot." Ashildr clicked her tongue and shook her head. "I keep telling you, you need to start a diary." She patted the TARDIS console, in whose databanks she had stored as much as possible of her millenia of existence.

"And I keep telling _you_ , I don't have time to sit around writing when there's a universe to explore. So go on." Clara made a shooing gesture with her hands. "Cook her something. Get her out of here."

Ashildr raised her eyes to the ceiling in an all-too-familiar gesture. "How many times, Clara? I do not take orders."

"Please?"

"If you say so." The immortal smirked, adjusted her waitress' cap, and sauntered out into the dining room.

Clara, despite her better judgment, kept her eyes and ears glued to the screen.

"Oh, hey!" Past Clara sang. "About time. Can I get a chicken wrap on whole wheat, extra tomato, hold the onions, and a Diet Coke with no ice?"

"Coming right up," said Ashildr, who did not take orders. Present Clara smirked as her companion spun around to face the grill.

"Nice place," said Past Clara. "Very retro."

There was no irony in that; at the time she had been in a 1950's phase, polka dots and Mary Janes, and had never stopped to think that what was "retro" for her could be present, future, or ancient history for others. _Humans – always so linear,_ she could hear a Scottish voice saying …

"Oh, it's older than it looks," said Ashildr, with a sly glance toward the back door, where she knew Present Clara was watching.

While Ashildr grilled a piece of chicken and stacked vegetables on a slice of flatbread, Past Clara pulled out a mobile phone, speed-dialed, and held it up to her ear. The way she smiled at the voice of whoever had answered was startling. _Did she – did I really smile like that?_

"Doctor, hey, it's me!"

Present Clara froze.

She was used to hearing the word, of course. It could hardly be avoided. Her universe had become surprisingly small since becoming a time traveler. It was hard to find a place he'd never been.

It was the happiness in Past Clara's voice that got to her.

"Yeah, I'm just – where _are_ you? … You did what? Oh, honestly! … Just give 'em back their sacred relic and – yes, I _know_ how much you love your fezzes … " Laughter bubbled in every syllable she spoke. "No, no, listen – I'm just calling to cancel Wednesday night."

Her expression sobered ever so slightly at the unheard answer. "Yeah, about that. Can we not see any ripped-up corpses next time?" Her laughter this time had a shrill quality which embarrassed Present Clara quite a bit. "Not exactly my idea of a fun night out. Plus it was _cold_ on that submarine." _The Ice Warrior, was it?_ thought Present Clara, who had faced down fleets of Daleks and (because she couldn't sleep in her suspended state) was remarkably free of nightmares. _Easy._

"But it's no problem," said Past Clara, banishing fear with a toss of her ponytail. "I'm a big girl, I can handle it. No, the reason I wanna cancel is Angie."

The name Angie came as a shock. At first, Present Clara drew a complete blank, which frightened her – who was Angie? Why would she matter enough to Past Clara to give up an adventure with Doctor? Then she remembered: Cybermen. A coin engraved with the Emperor's face. A sulky voice saying _You're not my mum._ The feel of an Afro tickling her chin when they hugged goodbye. Angie Maitland. Her brother Artie, who was in the chess club and took his older sister's mood swings with surprising patience. Their father George, often buried in his BlackBerry, but never too busy to listen. Their mother Teresa, whose gravestone was only a few steps away from another grave, one that Present Clara had not thought of for years. For centuries.

A maple leaf. _I will always find you._ Mum. Dad. Gran. Even Linda. Courtney. Meabh. Danny Pink.

How could she have forgotten?

"One of the kids I take care of, remember? She's got a dance recital … _No,_ Doctor." Past Clara swallowed a giggle. "Don't even think about it … I know, I'm sorry. I was looking forward to it too. But look, this is important. She's been practicing for months, driving me absolutely batty with her stage fright, and her dad's in Hong Kong on business, so basically I'm all she's got. I … I know what that feels like, you see."

Past Clara's brown eyes darkened. Something happened to her mouth that Present Clara recognized, a tightening around the corners, a hardness. _Now she looks like me._ It was not a comfortable thought.

"You told me when we first met," said Past Clara gently, "That I wasn't the type to walk out on the people I care about. I'll be there next Wednesday, I swear. But I don't want to lose perspective, Doctor. I love traveling with you, but I can't forget I'm human."

Present Clara held her arms tightly crossed above her chest. She could feel the absence of a pulse in her own wrists. She'd grown used to that. When was the last time she'd even thought about it?

 _Lost perspective._ Part of her was insulted. Hadn't she gained more perspective than any human could, traveling in time and space, seeing wonders, saving lives? _(Seeing death.)_ Part of her wanted to march right into the diner, slap Past Clara upside the head, and order her to keep that Wednesday appointment at all costs. What was a dance recital compared to a day with the man who … the one she had … the one she still …

 _You only have so many days with him, Clara. Why waste one?_

But when she closed her eyes, she could remember Angie's recital. The pride of watching her young friend whirl across the stage like a small, controlled tornado; Artie's awed expression; the rare sight of Angie's smile afterwards and the taste of celebratory doughnuts at the corner café. _You did okay, Sis. Okay? I was hot!_

At a different point in time, the Maitland family were dust in the ground. At another, they weren't born yet.

 _I wanted nothing to change, ever again,_ her Gran had said to her one Christmas. That Christmas, the day her Doctor had sent her away, died, and become someone else. Was that the day she had lost perspective, as Past Clara would say? Was it the day she'd scattered herself into a million pieces inside the Doctor's timestream? Was it the day she'd lost Danny and held the TARDIS hostage – or believed she did – to try and force the Doctor to bring him back? Was it the day she'd taken on Rigsy's death sentence as easily as shrugging on a coat, half believing the Doctor would save her, half – she could admit this now – wishing for a quick, heroic death? ( _Wishing to leave him first, before he could leave me.)_ Or was it earlier than that?

 _Two companions who push each other to extremes,_ Ashildr had said.

 _My God …_ (Some habits, like swearing, stick to you no matter how far you are from home.) _She's got a point._

Even without a heartbeat, she felt cold.

A clatter of crockery made her jump: Ashildr dropping the finished wrap on the counter along with a can of Diet Coke.

"Thanks." Past Clara smiled as she picked up her meal. "Ooh, crispy."

She took a bite and closed her eyes. The crunch of breaded chicken echoed over the loudspeakers in the silent console room. Present Clara, who could not eat, turned her face away.

"Screen off," she whispered.

/

Ashildr came back through the door with grease stains on her apron and a subdued look on her face. One of the side effects of living so long was an intuition that almost amounted to telepathy; she often knew what Clara planned to do before Clara knew it herself. Usually Clara, who liked to surprise people with her cleverness ( _so similar to him_ ), found this annoying. Today, she was simply grateful.

"It's time," was all she could say.

"Are you sure?" Ashildr asked. "Think about it."

"How many times have _you_ thought about it?" Clara pointedly eyed the black swirls along her friend's collarbone, where the Raven was still bound. "If I do, I'll back out, and who knows where or - or what we'll be in another thousand years?"

"Fair point."

"Just … take my body back, will you please? So my family can bury it." The old Clara would no doubt have shuddered at this idea, but she had grown accustomed to death a long time ago. "I don't want them wondering what happened to me."

"All right." Ashildr bowed her head over the console. "It's been a nice change, you know, traveling with someone who doesn't die on me." She spoke casually, as if discussing the weather, but Clara could see how the smaller woman's hands trembled over the console keyboard as she set a course for Gallifrey.

"Oh, c'mon. You're bored with me, admit it," Clara teased, but even their customary blend of gallows humor didn't seem to help.

"You could always … follow me," Clara added more seriously, "One of these days. I mean, you've already lived up 'til the end of the universe. And that was how long ago?"

"I'm not sure even the Raven is capable of that." Ashildr traced her markings with a dark smile. "I've never tried."

Their TARDIS landed silently and smoothly, quite unlike the Doctor's beloved rattletrap of a Type 40. Glancing at the screen, Clara saw by the white walls and helmeted guards that they were back in the so-called extraction chamber. She looked back at Ashildr, feeling an uncomfortable rush of fondness at the woman who had been her only friend for so many years. It hurt. Her nonexistent heart wasn't used to it. What should she do, to say goodbye? What would the old Clara have done?

"Don't just stand there looking like an idiot," Ashildr's high, precise voice interrupted her. "Come here." She opened her arms.

 _Oh yes. That._ Clara hugged her tightly, squeezing her eyes shut. _He was right. This_ is _a convenient way to hide your face._

With her head held high, she let go and walked through the door.


End file.
